Foundation of Trust
by SeptemberWilliams
Summary: Sylar and Peter are trapped together for years in Sylar's mind. Can Peter learn to accept Sylar, as friend, as a lover, as a hero?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one: Trapped

After his spectacular failure of an escape attempt, Peter couldn't bear to be around Sylar. He was so mad, the man was just delusional, in his own mind just the same as in the real world. He really believed that all of this was real? If he just fucking cooperated they could at least make a solid attempt to escape, he had felt a barrier when he tried it before but he couldn't tell if it was from Parkman, trapping them here, or if it was Sylar. After contemplation her knew it had to be Sylar, just not trusting him, or rather not allowing him. What could he lose in Peter's offer to escape? Nothing. There was no other answer for it; Sylar had simply not allowed it. Why? He had seemed eager enough to leave.

Didn't matter, he was stuck here at the moment regardless. Here being his apartment in his feeble hopes to regain normalcy. After the first week of walking around in restlessness, he explored different buildings, sat for long periods of time trying to reach out with Parkman's power and find the edge of Sylar's mind, of this nightmare, but it yielded no results. It didn't feel like he had no power, he could still feel its presence it just didn't work here. It felt like he was attempting a high dive in the middle of the ocean would; useless. But it didn't stop him from trying of course. And every time he failed, all his anger boiled to the surface again. Why the hell did here ever come here! There was no reason he should be here.

Yes there was, of course there was: Emma. As much as he hated Sylar for all the things he did, he had dreamed the dream himself. Sylar was meant to save her, and judging from this situation Peter was meant to save him. If only he knew how! **How**!? Maybe there was a way to access his ability and he just had to find it. Maybe he had to play therapist with Sylar to get him to access his own abilities so he could open the channel back to the outside, back to their bodies. He felt such desperation to escape, even if he had the whole city. It was a fancy cage, in which it seemed that that he would not be allowed to hide.

Sylar may have been the only man left in the world, but he was an ever-present nuisance, just reminding Peter of why he was trapped in the first place. _Sylar your not-brother serial killer bestie! _Peter thought very unhelpfully. He could barely look at the man without it invoking some degree of rage. All that he had done to the Petrelli's, his mother, his brother, now he had to believe that Sylar was a hero? A Savior? Could he force himself to do that? Did he have any other choice?

He heard a door open behind him, and he didn't have to wrack his brain to figure out who is was. After three weeks those habits start to leave you. He turned to look at Sylar and he was dressed as always: Black pants and black trench coat. He had his hands in the pockets and strolled in casually, having the audacity to smile at Peter.

"Just because you're the only person in this world doesn't mean you don't have to knock." Peter hissed out.

"My mistake." Sylar retorted equally as biting. "Would the only other person in the world care to do something other than mope today?" he asked tilting his head.

"No one to murder." Peter said with a pleasant air and a tight smile.

"But all of New York to ourselves, anything we want- anything you want- we need only take." There was something in his voice that Peter couldn't identify; it sounded like desperation, but that- it just- it couldn't be. This was Sylar, the murder, the monster!

And yet…

He seemed so broken, so defeated. Even in the real world he had always seemed lost just looking for his way really. He stood now with his hand in his pockets just fidgeting and looking at the ground. _Maybe he could go…_

"This world isn't real Sylar." _but not today._

Sylar huffed out a breath of air and stood to go. "It's all we've got." He tossed over his shoulder.


	2. 2: Not Alone

**A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading, I didn't expect any interest in the story at all but i may be determined to finish now. I will update as often as i can hopefully ~800 words per week, but this is my first ****fan fiction so i'd appreciate constructive criticism and input in the reviews. Please follow review and enjoy. **

**Warning: Language **

Sylar walked out of Peter's apartment feeling immensely deflated, and a little conflicted. He winced as his feet pounded down the concrete, the soles of his black leather shoes the only sound to his ears. He headed toward the nearest park because it was really the only place that came to mind that he knew would help him think. He stopped and sat on a bench with a beautiful view. The view almost made him sad, it was still and perfect and peaceful because there was absolutely no one the disturb it. No one in the world.

Except Peter

Sylar was not sure what the weirdest part of it all was. First he was alone for days, then those became months, until he counted three long, long years. He searched at first but after scouring all of New York he had dismal hopes. This was his nightmare that had become a reality and Sylar was stuck in it. The worst part was that he believed he deserved it, believed it whole-heartedly. With every day that passed in absence of another person whose life he had taken came back to haunt him. All those special people The Hunger drove him to kill, they came to him in his dreams and vanish slowly until he was alone again. He tried not to sleep, tried not to eat, tried to die, but he couldn't. Sometimes he wouldn't remember how all the people had vanished and had panic attacks when his mind took him into visions of him raining destruction upon all the people.

So he holed himself up in his workshop, resigned to the fact that he was going to live forever, alone. The watches helped a lot; they filled the silence with sound that reminded Sylar of when he was happy. He frowned, he actually couldn't remember the last time he was happy. Well the sound was comforting if nothing more. Until he heard the pounding in the streets it was the only sound at all. The day Peter came, he'd hammered away at the pavement in steady timed beats, just like the clocks only with a different tone, fiery, alive. He didn't believe it, that there was finally a person after so very long.

Peter had very different beliefs about the world around him, and at first Sylar couldn't believe the nonsense that Peter spouted. But the more Sylar sat and pondered- not just this day but all of them since Peters appearance- he started to see how Peter's story would make sense. He said they were in his mind; well this was his worst fear. He said Parkman put him here, and that made sense because Parkman hated him. But then he said that he could help Sylar escape, and that he wanted to because he was meant to save someone that Peter cared about. Peter. Petrelli. Whose life Sylar had effectively fucked up on multiple occasions, stated with certainty that Sylar would save this woman, this Emma.

That would be the weirdest thing of this all. That anyone, least of all Peter fucking Petrelli, would believe that Sylar could be good. After all that he's done? After everyone he killed, and the turmoil he caused anyone who loved them, how could he still be good? The memories start to flash now, like they always inevitably do. Elle. Isaac. _Those two specials he killed in California, they'd had a daughter didn't they? Didn't he hear about her? Claire. Nathan. _He pressed his cool fingers against his eyes and they alleviated some of the pain, some of the horror, some of the sins. He was sweating and shaking and his breath came in uneven rasps. Tears stung at the back of his eyes. He focused on his breathing but really there wasn't much else for him to think about. _Now there's only Peter…_

The next breath he released was much more even than the last, and a little of the tension fell from his shoulders. Minutes later he felt the pit in his stomach loosen considerably. He looked around at the abandoned park, at the beautiful trees and the still water. He wasn't shaking at all anymore. Peter was always good, Sylar couldn't promise he could be good, but at the least he would stop being evil. _Not a monster. _

He walked out of the park feeling as if he were on auto pilot. He felt numb, neither happy nor sad but more confused than anything. Because he couldn't remember the last time he was this at peace. He thought of Peter and smiled, because who would ever know.

_Not alone._


End file.
